Whispers in the Wind
by Just-Writing-Fanfics
Summary: On the night of 31 October 1981, Voldemort attacked the home of the Potters, slaughtering Lily and James Potter and kidnapping Harry on his quest to destroy the one threat to his rule. Now, Harry must walk between the worlds of light and dark. Will he fall, or will he rise? Dark Harry, lots of Dumbledore bashing, no slash. Side project I'm undertaking alongside 'The Lost Child'.
1. Chapter 1

Halloween of 1981 seemed the same as any other night. Pumpkins glowed ominously in the Winter night, and children laughed and giggled as they went trick or treating, their bulging bags filled to bursting with sweets and chocolate. To them, the house of James and Lily Potter might as well have been on another continent for all of the attention they took to it, and the struggle going on inside.

'Lily, get Harry and run!' A young man with round glasses shouted up the stairs after his wife, his body tensed as if he was going to fly at the hooded figure in his doorway, as tendrils of darkness slithered from it across the hallway, smothering the light that once filled it. 'I'll hold him off!' At this, the tendrils shook and retreated slightly, as if laughing in amusement at his defiance. From the centre of the darkness, a single sickly green orb shot out, glowing with an eerie light as it sped towards the young man that was its target, his eyes widening as the light of the curse reflected off of his eyes. A second later and it was over. James Potter was no more, his body being blasted into the far wall with a loud crash. Sparing the body a look of contempt, the hooded figure slowly moved into the house, like a predator playing with its prey. Following the sobs he heard, he glided up the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps. As he turned the knob of the door closest to him, he stopped briefly at the sound of heavy objects being moved inside and the pants of the mudblood as she desperately tried to defend herself and her feeble son. Feeling the irritation growing inside of him, he turned his wand against it, blowing it off of its hinges and onto the floor with a deafening boom, crushing whatever pathetic resistance the mudblood had put against it. Turning his crimson eyes to the cot, he regarded the woman in front of it with cold contempt.

'Stand aside, girl,' the shadow commanded, his voice high and as cold as stone. 'This does not concern you.'

'Please, please not Harry,' the young mudblood sobbed, tears flowing down her pale cheeks as she spread her arms wide, as if she could protect the boy with her body.

'I am warning you, girl. Stand aside,' the shadow began to lift his wand, irritation causing the tendrils of darkness that spread out around him to lash out, smashing windows, toys; everything it could reach.

'Please, take me instead!' The girl screamed, refusing to move even as she flinched at the display of power. It might have been a touching sight - that is, if Lord Voldemort had a heart. Tired of the futile resistance, he hissed the words for the killing curse, the curse lighting up the room with a flash of green as it collided with the girl, her emerald eyes darkening as death clutched her in its cold embrace, pulling her into the void that awaited. With a vicious flick of his wrist, the body was sent flying to the far war, the soul that once occupied it past his ability to hurt. He knew Snape would be disappointed, but what would it matter? He was a servant of the Dark Lord, women would fall at his feet if he so wished it. This one was just a filthy little mudblood, after all. Barely sparing the corpse a second glance, the malevolent figure moved towards the cot, staring down at the boy that occupied it, a sick feeling of excitement filling his body. With a casual flick of the wrist, he lifted the boy to his level, watching him like a lion about to go for the kill. Smiling wickedly, he looked at the child, its emerald green eyes showing so sign of fear as it smiled innocently at him. Hissing in annoyance at the lack of fear he sensed, he pressed his wand against the boy's head, his blood red eyes widening in surprise when the boy didn't just smile but laughed, as if Lord Voldemort was some kind of joke. Opening his mouth to utter the words that would ensure his victory over Dumbledore and his order of weak-willed servants, he hesitated. Frustrated by this, he mentally cursed himself. 'He's just a boy,' he said to himself, growling in anger at his own weakness, sure that the boy must be tricking him somehow.

Casting his senses towards the boy, they confirmed what he thought; he could not hurt the boy! With a scream of fury, the tendrils went into a frenzy, sending the contents of the room flying. Looking back and forth between the boy and the woman, he slowly realised how it had happened. It was old magic, very old, dating back to the age of Merlin himself. Calming himself slightly, he dropped the boy back into the cot, where it smiled up at him trustingly. Regarding it with disgust, he mused over what he could do. Asking his servants to kill the boy for him was out of the question; that honour would be his and his alone. If he couldn't kill the boy, then neither could anyone else. As he contemplated what to do, he realised the danger that the boy posed; a child that was immune to his power? Dumbledore would undoubtedly use him as a weapon against him. Unless...

Turning back to the boy, he cast his senses out again, past the ward against him that made his skin crawl. Yes, the boy was certainly powerful, and only three people in existence knew of the prophecy. Smiling cruelly as a scheme came to his mind, he reached in and picked up the boy, resting him in the crook of his arm. He looked around, knowing that he'd have to fool Dumbledore into believing that the Potter boy was dead. Placing his wand against the boy's arm, he cut a deep cut into it, causing the boy to cry out in pain, stopping as soon as Voldemort healed the cut, leaving the skin smooth and white once more. Gathering the blood, he duplicated it, decorating the cot, the walls, and even the ceiling in the coppery liquid. Smiling at his handiwork, he could sense the approach of an immensely powerful presence. Knowing he couldn't risk a battle where the boy could hinder him, he apparated, escaping the room just as an elderly wizard entered the room, his long beard as white as snow, standing in stark contrast to the gruesome contents of the room. Walking briskly to the cot, his eyes widened in shock. It can't be! Casting a diagnosis spell at the bloody remains of young Harry Potter, he rested his face in his hands as it confirmed what he had already suspected; Harry Potter was dead. Looking across at Lily's still warm corpse, he knelt down next to her, gently closing her eyes.

'I'm truly sorry, my dear. I thought that by sacrificing you, the rest of the world may survive,' Dumbledore lamented, knowing that that only the dead could hear what he now confessed. 'Just know that Voldemort will suffer for this,' he continued, his eyes darkening in anger as he mentioned the self-proclaimed dark lord's name. Hearing a wail of grief from downstairs, he adopted the stance of a grieving man, moving towards the stairs to greet Hagrid as he entered.

* * *

A split second later, Voldemort arrived at Riddle Manor, startling a Lucius Malfoy who had been sitting in one of the chairs drinking a glass of rich red wine. Dressed in armoured black robes, his mask lying nearby so his exhaustion was clear to see. Lucius looked more like a resting warrior than an aristocrat. It shouldn't be surprising; he'd already been involved in three attacks this week, most recently on the Longbottoms. A pity that they'd been driven off before they'd gotten to the child, but no matter; he and Bellatrix had had their fun with the parents.

'My Lord!' He exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. Glancing at one of his oldest supporters, he reached into his cloak and pulled out the boy, covered in blankets to keep him warm in the icy manor's air.

'Take this to one of the rooms,' Voldemort commanded, carefully placing the bundle of blankets in his follower's hands. 'Be very careful with it.'

'Of-Of course, my Lord,' Lucius replied, knowing better than to ask questions. Bowing as he left his master's presence, Lucius moved towards one of the rooms, and as he did so one of the blankets came loose, revealing the contents inside. As Lucius looked down, he did a double take when he saw the little dark haired face beaming up at him, its emerald green eyes full of innocence. Putting his questions aside for now, he transfigured the bed into a cot, into which he placed the baby. As its head touched the pillow, the child yawned and his heavy eyes closed, falling asleep as Lucius stood staring down at it, bewildered. Quietly tip-toeing out of the room, he made his way back to the dining room, where Voldemort sat at its head, waiting for him.

'Lucius, call them,' Voldemort simply said, not needing to elaborate as Lucius took a deep breath and nodded, pulling up his sleeve and pressing down on his dark mark as he kept his face emotionless in order to hide the pain of the action. Feeling it burning like an inferno, he knew that the message had been conveyed. Leaning slightly on the cane he carried with him as all times, he slowly made his way to the richly decorated wooden table, taking his usual seat at the on his lord's right side. They sat in silence as the other Death Eaters arrived, Bellatrix Lestrange first, swooping into the room in ebony black robes that drew particular attention to her waist without compromising her movement. Lucius pitied the poor fool who challenged her to a duel; they probably wouldn't find what left of him.

Next came Barty Crouch Jr, one of the youngest Death Eaters but one of its most dangerous, with some viewing only the Dark lord as being his better. With his eerie grin and wide brown eyes, Lucius was wary of the madman who smirked at him now, leaning back in his chair as if not aware that the most powerful dark wizard in recent history was mere seats away. Following after Crouch was Antoin Dolohov, a quiet but powerful Death Eater, who preferred fighting to talking, to Lucius's rather poignant disgust. Blond hair framed a scarred face, which only made him even more intimidating. Lucius had had the pleasure of fighting alongside him, and he knew better than most that he was not to be underestimated. After these two, a steady stream followed, bowed, and took their seats. Macnair, hefting his bloodstained axe; Avery Sr, one of the first Death Eaters; Crabbe and Goyle, walking awkwardly and causing their chairs to groan in protest as they took their seats near the end of the table; the final member, Wormtail, slithered in quietly, flinching at the looks of disgust he received from the other Death Eaters. When everyone was seated and had turned to look at him, Voldemort pushed back the hood that had previously hid his features from view.

The dark arts had been kind to the dark lord. Where they normally took away something for what they gave the user, Voldemort was seemingly immune to this. A young face, so perfect it was as if it had been carved from stone, stared out at them with crimson eyes, overshadowed by a lock of black hair that enhanced his gaze, one which could leave his enemies trembling in fear. Thin but not like a skeleton, the man once called Tom Riddle inspired both love and terror in his followers, who had the sense not to meet his gaze directly. Good. It wouldn't do for them to believe that they were his equals.

'My friends,' he began, his voice so soft that the others had to lean forward to hear what their master said. Turning his gaze to each of them in turn, something resembling a smile graced him, but the evil that laced it made it appear to be more of a leer than a grin of cheerfulness. 'The Potters have been dealt with.' At this, the room erupted with cheers and congratulations, his Death Eaters celebrating his victory, as they should; James and Lily Potter had spurned his offers and opposed him and his servants for far too long, and they had received their reward at last. Allowing the noise to continue for a few more seconds as he basked in the attention, he finally raised a hand for silence. At once, the members were struck mute, as if he had cast a spell on them. 'As you know, the war is far from over,' he continued, ignoring the murmurs of agreement. 'If we win this war, there may be nothing left.' At this, the Death Eaters muttered to themselves. Was their leader, the most powerful dark wizard of all time and the rightful ruler of magical Britain, giving up? Sending out subtle mind probes, he caught the general gist of their thoughts, and his crimson eyes narrowed at their questioning of him. 'I am not surrendering,' he hissed angrily, causing those closest to where he sat to flinch as his anger manifested itself as darkness spreading out from his person, stopping just short of Lucius and Bellatrix. 'Dumbledore and his followers are a blight on the earth, and they will be wiped out in due time. However, we shall need to bide our time. For every attack we launch, Dumbledore and those fools in the Ministry of Magic are able to turn the people against us. Right now, that old fool has complete control over Hogwarts, and winning this war will be pointless if he manages to turn the next generation against us.'

After he finished, there was a thoughtful – or fearful, Voldemort often had trouble telling the difference – silence as his minions considered what he said. Eventually, as Voldemort began to grow irritated at the prolonged silence, Bellatrix spoke up.

'My Lord, what will we do then? We can't leave this world in the hands of mudbloods and blood traitors,' she protested, spitting the words like they left a foul taste in her mouth even as her eyes gazed at him with complete adoration. Voldemort smiled slightly at the question he was waiting for.

'My dear Bellatrix, did you really believe that I would not have a plan in place?' Voldemort asked, moving on before she could reply. 'If we are to overthrow Dumbledore and those cretins in the Order of the Phoenix, we must begin by taking back Hogwarts.' Smiling darkly, he paused to prolong the reverent silence that followed his words as he considered what to tell his servants. 'I plan to insert a sleeper agent into Hogwarts. They will give us details on everything happening in the castle, and if possible they will gain Dumbledore's trust. When the time is right, we will strike and defeat Dumbledore for good.'

'My Lord, Narcissa and I have a baby boy,' Lucius spoke for the first time since the meeting began. 'We would be honoured to have him serving such a role for you.' Voldemort turned his head to gaze at Lucius with something that resembled fondness.

'Thank you my friend, but I already have a spy in mind,' he replied, Lucius' eyes widening as he realised what his master intended as the rest of the Death Eaters looked on, bemused.

'Leave us,' he commanded to the room. As everyone except for Bellatrix and Lucius bowed and left, the dark lord stood, sweeping towards the door. 'Come.' His most loyal lieutenants scrambled to their feet, struggling to keep up with his brisk pace. 'Lucius, where did you put the boy?' Voldemort slowed to allow the Death Eater to catch up.

'In here, my Lord,' he answered, pushing open a door to their left, allowing Voldemort to enter. Bellatrix looked at him furiously, to which Lucius responded with an arrogant smirk. Bellatrix had always been jealous of Lucius being their master's first choice in critical matters, while Lucius revelled in her anger. He knew that he was kicking the beehive by doing so, but her anger was so amusing to behold. Strolling leisurely into the room behind his master, he felt her magic swell up as if to attack him, but Lucius knew that she wouldn't dare. Her master tolerated their rivalry, encouraged it even, but attempting to murder each other? That would be met with vicious retribution.

As for Voldemort, he gazed at the sleeping child, looking almost angelic in his slumber. Gentle picking him up in order to avoid rousing the child, he showed him to the stunned Bellatrix and the unsurprised Lucius. 'This is the one who shall ensure our victory, my friends,' he informed them, not noticing their taken aback expressions as he stared at the child.

'My Lord, is that child yours?' Bellatrix blurted out, and Lucius rolled his eyes in exasperation. While powerful and loyal, Bellatrix had never been good at diplomacy, unlike Lucius, who was a natural. Fortunately, their master was in a good mood, so he ignored the brashness of the question.

'I'm afraid not, my dear Bellatrix,' he replied in a soft voice, still looking at the child. 'This one is the offspring of Lily and James Potter, their last useful gift to us.'

'The child of the mudblood and the blood traitor?' Bellatrix gasped, appalled at the prospect of treating a child of the enemy like one of them. At this, Voldemort's good mood evaporated. 'Yes Bellatrix,' he hissed softly, yet Bellatrix flinched as if he'd shouted at her. 'Neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone, understood?'

'Yes master,' they replied in unison, knowing that the dark lord was at the end of his patience with their antics today.

'Good,' he replied, turning back to the child. 'Now leave, I have work to do.' At this, the two bowed and left the room. Voldemort waited for them to leave, before gently laying the boy back in the cot. Gazing at the boy one last time as he turned to leave, Voldemort smiled, his plans already taking shape.

'Sleep well, Harry Potter. For soon, we will bring Dumbledore and his pathetic order to its knees.'


	2. Chapter 2: Prologue part 1

**Hey everyone and welcome to chapter 2 of** _ **Whispers in the Wind**_ **. For now, the plan is to set the foundations for the story by doing a couple more chapters while Harry is a child and then jump until he's older, most likely just before he goes to Hogwarts. Let me know what you think of this idea and the chapter. Any feedback is appreciated.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 2

The murky darkness was like a thick blanket as Lucius entered the manor to escape the roar of the rain outside, which continued to trickle down his hat and long, dark overcoat as he stepped into the lobby. Shivering slightly, the Malfoy flicked his wand, his soaked clothes instantly dry - a relief, as the manor itself was like walking into a freezer - and removing the disillusionment charm he'd placed upon himself. Removing his hat, Lucius paused for a moment to breathe in the dark magic that surrounded him, its essence intoxicating to the Malfoy lord, whose expression contorted into one of pleasure as his own magic resonated with that of

the manor's, singing a song of dark and shadow in his very marrow, becoming a part of him as it filled him like living fire, warming his veins and causing a flush in his skin's usual pallor. Smirking slightly, Lucius rearranged his face into an expression of inscrutable politeness, the noble mask he'd practiced time and time again as a child until it was second nature to him. The mask had become a comfort to him during the War, and was one which he had a feeling would come in very useful to him in the future, if his master's plans came to fruition.

Speaking of his master...Lucius looked towards the sound of footsteps on the staircase next to him, his nose turning upwards as he couldn't help but sneer at the short little man who came scurrying up to him, trembling slightly as he looked up at Lucius.

"T-the Dark Lord is waiting for you i-in the u-usual place, M-mr Malfoy," the ratlike man stuttered, fidgeting constantly as he looked at the collar of the Malfoy lord's cloak with small, beady eyes overshadowed by the purplish discolouration below his eyes. It took all of Lucius' considerable willpower to simply nod and not say anything else. _Wormtail_ \- a fitting name, for one so cowardly and pathetic, Lucius mused. While the former friend of the Potters had earned the Dark Lord's mercy for his role in bringing down the Light's secret weapon, he would never be one of them, and no true Death Eater would ever respect him - fittingly, Lucius thought, as he moved towards the stairs. For all of his faults, Lucius did not think of himself as a coward, but make no mistake, that is what Pettigrew was, Potters or no Potters. Perhaps, if the master was happy with what he brought him today, he might allow him to use the man for target practice-

Lucius' thoughts were interrupted as he reached the first floor landing, nearly colliding with a familiar raven-haired woman, who hissed at the sight of him.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Bellatrix Lestrange hissed, causing him to smirk in wry amusement as he took a step back to look the witch up and down. Even in her midnight black duelling robes - dirtied with dried splotches of crimson - and with her face drawn in an expression of utter rage, she still managed to look extremely beautiful, which made taunting her even more enjoyable.

"The Dark Lord," Lucius started, placing careful emphasis on the title, "has given me orders, ones which I'm not allowed to reveal to you, dear Bellatrix."

"Careful, Malfoy," the witch snarled, stepping so close they were almost breathing the same air. "You may be the Dark Lord's right hand now, but all it takes is one mistake, and we'll find out just what you're made." As she made to walk away, anger flickered through Lucius, causing his arm to snap out and grab the dark witch by the wrist, holding her in place as she struggled to free herself, glaring at him with undiluted hatred. _If looks could kill…"_

Leaning close, Lucius put his mouth close to her ear, feeling her involuntarily stiffen as he whispered "and yet, I am carrying out the Dark Lord's will while you are stuck here, useless" before releasing her. Taking a step back, he watched her with amused interest as he wondered whether she'd slap him or try to curse him. Finally, she simply hissed in hatred before moving down the stairs with a swishing of her robes, leaving a smirking Lucius looking after her. He knew it was a dangerous game he was playing with his wife's sister, but he couldn't deny how fun it was to provoke her when she couldn't do anything. Wincing as his left forearm began to burn horrifically, he realised he had been keeping his master waiting long enough, and moved towards the door at the far end of the right side of the corridor, stopping and knocking on the door before opening it wide enough to step through, before shutting it again.

Sinking to a knee, Lucius lowered his head to look at the rich emerald carpet he knelt on, not daring to look up at the tall man who sat beneath the window a short distance away in almost complete shadow, silently turning his wand between his long fingers, the only sound being the pitter-patter of rain as it collided with the mansion, slowly rolling down the windows.

"Report," Voldemort hissed, making very little noise as Lucius looked up at him before standing, willing himself to meet those burning crimson eyes. "It seems your ploy worked perfectly, my Lord. The rest of the wizarding world is mourning the loss of James, Lily and young Harry Potter. No one suspects a thing," Lucius explained, noting his master's nod of approval.

"And what of the Order of the Phoenix? What of Dumbledore?" Voldemort replied, moving out of the darkness beneath the window as he leaned forward, looking intently at the Malfoy lord.

"...Reports have been sketchy on that front, my Lord," Lucius answered smoothly, looking up to meet the Dark Lord's eyes. "We have received reports that Dumbledore is still reeling from the loss of the boy, but also that he's already making preparations for a new child to take over the Potter boy's _destiny_." Voldemort nodded, processing what his lieutenant had told him. "Unfortunately, I doubt Dumbledore thinks that you've actually been defeated, so he'll be on the lookout for a while."

"I wouldn't have expected him to, my friend," Voldemort smiled at his lieutenant, though it was more like a dark smirk. "The old man, for all of his faults, is no fool. It will be a long time before I can be active in Great Britain without arousing too much suspicion." His lieutenant didn't answer, waiting for Voldemort's permission to continue.

"And what of the boy's identity? Do we have a name?" He finally asked, looking towards the cot on the far side of the room which housed a sleeping infant. Lucius followed his lord's gaze, hesitating before answering.

"We're...still working on that front, my Lord. My spies and contacts within the Ministry are still looking for a name, but as of now we can only speculate."

"I see," Voldemort replied, nodding slightly. "You have done well, Lucius. That will be all." Lucius bowed as he moved towards the door, sparing the lord a single glance of confusion before he moved towards the door. "And Lucius," his master said from behind him, halting his hand as it rested on the doorknob. "Take care in provoking dear Bella," Voldemort warned him, though the voice was touched with dark amusement. Lucius didn't answer, recognising it for the dismissal that it was as he turned the doorknob, closing the door behind him. The Dark Lord barely noticed, standing as he moved towards the cot, placing his pale hands on its railing as he gazed down at the peacefully sleeping child inside, the orbs of hate in his eyes unwillingly softening, as a shred of some unknown feeling passed through him, slipping through even the ocean of hatred that slept inside of him.

* * *

Dumbledore, on the other hand, did not have the luxury of peace and quiet as he sat at his headmaster's desk, his head tilted to the right and balanced on his fingertips as he wearily listened to the prattling and arguing of the many witches and wizards gathered, almost all of them being Ministry of Magic officials or members of his very own Order of the Phoenix. As the chattering grew to almost deafening levels, Dumbledore lost track of the conversation, as he only wanted these fools to _shut up._

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," he started, his magically enhanced voice cutting over even the loudest of those present, an immediate hush covering the room as he slowly stood, sinking back into his familiar grandfatherly persona. "All of this bickering solves nothing. Must I remind you that just because the War appears to have ended, does not mean that our enemy is defeated. We must be cautious, and we must _not_ allow ourselves to be divided." The short silence following his words was broken by Barty Crouch, who sat on the opposite side of the desk, next to the current Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold, a stern looking woman in her mid to late fifties. "Albus, I'm starting to think you're overestimating You-Know-Who. It's been 4 months since the Potters happened, and there's been very little word of activity from him. Unless, of course, there is something you have not shared with us," he added, his eyes narrowing as Albus smiled gently back, giving off the appearance of a harmless old man. "I am merely suggesting that we all be cautious in the days to come," he replied, addressing the room as a whole even as his electric blue eyes locked onto the Minister of Law Enforcement. "Lord Voldemort," he pressed on, ignoring the room's collective flinch at the name, "wants us to lower our guards, to leave ourselves vulnerable."

"Regardless," Crouch again interjected. "Across the country we are arresting Death Eaters left right and centre. Most of them look like they've just given up, while others…" The Minister's mouth tightened into a thin line, not bothering to finish the sentence as he stood, donning his round black hat as he looked at Dumbledore, who surveyed him through half-moon glasses. "I trust we" gesturing to himself and the Minister of Magic, who also stood, remaining silent, "will see you at the trials?" Again, that narrowed gaze, one which Dumbledore met with a beam of his own, standing as well, watching the room's occupants slowly file out, until he was alone.

As the door closed with a sharp snap, the smile vanishing to be replaced with a curl of the lip, a quiet snarl of annoyance before the headmaster caught himself, his mouth falling back into a neutral position as he turned towards where Fawkes slumbered, its rich red plumage soft and warm beneath his wizened fingers, soothing his anger as he thought about his next move. As if on cue, a sharp knock sounded from the other side of the door, giving him just enough time to assume his grandfatherly persona before he barged in, his greasy hair soaked and clinging to his head, his black eyes wild with pain and grief, haunted by his guilt. Exactly what Dumbledore needed.

"Severus," he began, gesturing for the man to take a seat. "I believe I know how you can atone for Lily's death…"

* * *

All through the night, Voldemort sat close to the cot, watching the tiny creature inside it as it slept, sometimes stirring and crying out, before a gentle tendril of darkness stroked its young mind, lulling it back into its innocent, infant dreams, unaware of the crimson eyes that gazed upon it with an unreadable expression, unaware that the tendrils of darkness that caressed its mind belonged to the person who'd destroyed its life, its home, its family, unaware that it had been robbed of any joy, any love it might have received. And as the child slept on, the Dark Lord finally moved, summoning his lieutenant with a tug on the bond that bound his minions to him, allowing it to burn slightly so he could not ignore it. On his part, Voldemort did not wait for his servant to come to him, and moved towards the door, yanking the door open to reveal Lucius, frozen as he paused, his hand raised to knock on the door, a hand that quickly fell to his side as he masked the surprise that flashed across his face, before he bowed at the waist. "You summoned me, my Lord?" The Dark Lord answered with a come hither gesture, moving back into the room, taking a spot by the infant. Lucius had no choice but to obey, coming to stand near the end of the cot, the end closest to the wooden door that silently closed behind him, pushed by some invisible wind.

"What do you see, Lucius?" Lucius blinked at that voice as he glanced up at his master, watching him gaze at the boy with something like...fondness. Looking down at the boy, he frowned as he watched it move slightly in its sleep, oblivious to the two of them watching it. "I...see a child, my Lord." He swallowed, bracing himself for the excruciating pain of the torture curse as his master sighed, and it took all of his willpower to stifle a gasp of relief as his master jabbed a long, pale finger at the infant. "Yes, yes I can see that. But what can you _feel_ , my friend?" Lucius looked again at the child, but this time cast out his senses along with his eyes, feeling for whatever it was his master could so easily detect. As his consciousness pushed past the baby's childlike thoughts and feelings, he found it. What fascinated his master so much, a revelation that he struggled to process even as he left the boy's mind. Gazing at his lieutenant's pallid face, Voldemort smiled humourlessly, knowing he'd sensed it too. "My Lord, should I kill him?" Lucius managed to get out, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the cot, before it was effortlessly yanked out of his hand and into the Dark Lord's waiting one. "You shall do no such thing," said wizard hissed, his crimson eyes glowing in the palpable darkness between them. "The task I have for you is far more challenging." Voldemort turned away from the cot, strolling towards his preferred chair below the window before gracefully sitting in it, contemplating the wand in his hands as the Malfoy lord stayed by the cot, trying not to fidget uncomfortably as the silence stretched on

"Can I trust you, Lucius?" His lord finally broke the silence as those orbs of fire locked onto him, pinning him to the spot. "O-of course, my Lord," Lucius stammered. "You know my loyalty to you, to your cause, is absolute," he added, feeling the sweat trickling down the back of his neck as that gaze, if anything, grew even more scrutinising; Lucius felt as if he was being torn apart, every inch of his mind, magic and identity being pulled apart and judged, before slowly, ever so slowly, being put back together. The effect was so intense that when those red eyes finally left him to look at the cot in front of him it was an effort not to sag in relief, even as his master flicked his wrist, lifting the infant out of his cot and causing it to float towards him, gently landing in his outstretched hands, not making a sound. "Wait outside, Lucius," the man commanded, not taking his eyes off the boy even as his servant bowed, leaving the room as those tendrils spread out from his master, bringing forth a wave of darkness that swallowed everything in the room; man, child, cot, the only light - those burning, crimson orbs of hate - visible for only a second before the darkness covered it, hiding it within its impenetrable essence.

* * *

Dawn was creeping through the shuttered windows of the manor by the time it was done. Lucius sat stiff-backed, his body begging for him to sleep, to rest his eyes for a moment, hidden from the sun's sleepy rays. When it happened, he bolted out of his chair, his back screaming in protest at the sharp movement. The mansion was eerily quiet as the tainted air within it shifted, like a stream being flooded. Shivering, Lucius suppressed the lightheadedness of the dark wave that enveloped him, being pulled forwards by an invisible bond, one which tugged, almost painfully so, towards the room where his lord and the Potter brat had been. Bracing a pale hand on the icy cold wood of the bannister, he forced his stiff legs to climb, forcing himself up and up those steps until he arrived, breathing heavily with the pace he'd been forced to take and the near-suffocating heaviness of the laden air, which was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe in. Yet as he reached for the door, it swung open before he could even lay his hand on the doorknob, releasing a blast of darkness that had him reeling, the power from whatever dark spell or ritual the Dark Lord had evoked forcing him to put a strong shield around him just to enter the room.

The Dark Lord was just….sitting there. In the middle of the room, with the infant Potter in front of him, not moving. Lucius didn't dare breathe as his master's eyes opened, dulled as though with exhaustion, a thought he immediately shook from his head, lest his master doubt his faith. "Lucius," his master hissed, picking up a pile of blankets that lay in front of him before slowly standing, holding the baby in his hands as he approached, making no noise as he stopped within a few centimetres of the Malfoy lord, his expression unreadable as he held the blankets out to him. Stepping forwards to take the outstretched infant, he recoiled a moment later as the power in the room rippled, a spark of it colliding with him and causing him to flinch in pain, the left hand going numb where the spark had struck him, his shield only softening the impact instead of stopping it. As he winced at the uncomfortable feeling - or lack thereof, he heard his master sigh with irritation, before he felt that relentless wave of overwhelming power reluctantly retreat, flowing back into its master, who only pushed the infant in the blankets towards his lieutenant, who slowly took it with hesitant features. As he looked up to his master, he felt a wave of information, of commands and instructions, being conveyed to him through their bond. As the stream of information slowed and stopped, he could do little more than bow deeply, before turning to slowly walk down the stairs, risking a glance at the child who his master had done Merlin knows what to.

And in that glance, he noticed something unusual about the boy. Past the blond hair that glinted like fire in the weak morning sunset, past the unremarkable hazel eyes that flickered between a deep emerald green and chocolate brown as they looked at him warily, as though the boy had knowledge far beyond his years.

Inadvertently, almost unwillingly, Lucius couldn't help but feel his eyes drawn to the boy's forehead, where a scar was visible through the tufts of hair there, glistening like it had just been carved there.

A scar like a lightning bolt.

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 **I hope you liked this chapter. Again, please let me know what you thought. Any feedback is welcome and appreciated.**

 **Cheerio!**


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